


Succumb

by lalazee



Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Universe, M/M, PWP, Rough Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 08:02:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalazee/pseuds/lalazee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is blood and lust and sin; this is discovery and revelation. This is Esca spreading Marcus before him without a care for his pain or suffering or pity or fear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Succumb

Hidden in the dark, Marcus can yield; can allow these things to happen. In the bruised-blue depth of night, he can let go.  
  
The pregnant moon spills through the branches, laps cold and damp at his skin as surely as Esca licks a hot, wet stripe from Marcus’ collarbone to jaw. Marcus shivers beneath nails scraping red rivers across his ribs, and it has nothing to do with the chill sinking to the earth.  
  
Esca is the only man to make him shudder, to make him writhe like an animal with a blade in its side – and Esca does not care. His only intent is to tear Marcus apart, to leave him bare and struggling for honour, for strength, even as he begs for completion, begs to be broken.  
  
Because the night blankets them like some sleek, shimmering pelt, like a promise of privacy and seclusion, Marcus succumbs to every bite and bruise and abrasion. With the moon’s light washing the hills and dips and shadows of Esca’s body in white, he’s more apparition, _animal_  than man.  
  
He rips at Marcus’ tunic, uncaring of a tear as he feasts on Marcus’ neck and chest and nipples with licks and nips and ragged snarls in a language that means nothing to Marcus, and yet mean everything because it’s Esca who’s saying them.  
  
This is blood and lust and sin; this is discovery and revelation. This is Esca spreading Marcus before him without a care for his pain or suffering or pity or fear. He does not treat Marcus gently as he exposes every muscle, every bone to his hunger and need. Marcus can smell red iron in the air, and it smells like prey, like him.   
  
Some nights with Esca above him and rotting moss pillowed beneath him, Marcus can submit. Esca opens Marcus with tongue, then fingers. His teeth have sunk into the meat of Marcus’ hip, one pain distracting from the other, and every pain distracting from the one inside him.  
  
In this moment, with a low fire cracking beside them and drifting errant ash upon Marcus’ cheek, there is only Esca. The glint of his teeth, bright as stars, the callous of his rough palms as they work Marcus’ cock over towards pain, the flash of midnight in his eyes before he snaps,  _turn_.  
  
Marcus complies without a word and gets a lingering slap on his flank for his obedience. Marcus barely has time to shift his thighs and press his brow to the grass before everything becomes thick, slick desperation and strangled gasps into the humming night. Marcus is on fire, and Esca is riding the flames, breathing hot and moist against his neck before he latches onto Marcus’ shoulder with a solid bite.  
  
Because there are no witnesses, because even Marcus casts a blind eye to the rolling, pulsing shadows that paint their frenzied deeds onto the circle of trees, Marcus can surrender. He does not watch – he never watches. He feels himself filled to the brim, ripped in half and torn through with Esca; with Esca’s desire and his savagery and his understanding that a man needs to feel pain in order to remember pleasure.  
  
Marcus’ nails cake with mud as he digs them into the dirt, curls his fingers into his palm until he’s cutting inflamed half-moons into his flesh. Esca breaks him open again and again, one hand tangled in Marcus’ hair and the other clamping down on his hip as the  _slap_ , slap, slap of their skin echoes in Marcus’ ears. Marcus is whimpering, whining as Esca’s thrusts pummel him towards that bright, sharp peak of light.  
  
A hiss escapes Marcus’ lips as he reaches for his cock and pumps it through the firm clench of his fist. He’s so close, on the precipice of peace, of perfection – but he waits. Waits for Esca, waits until his breath hitches, his hips stutter, and a gritty groan scrapes from his throat. Esca slams his hips once, a hard arch up into Marcus’ core, and heat floods through him in a wave. It is then that Marcus let’s himself release; let’s himself fall apart beneath Esca and the swelling moon and every God’s judgemental eyes.   
  
Marcus does not care. Esca collapses onto Marcus’ back with a sweaty slap and rests his cheek in the dip between Marcus’ shoulder blades with a faint sigh. Marcus aches from toe to tongue. He can taste blood and dirt in his mouth. He does not care.  
  
Because it’s not the dark which allows him to let go. It’s Esca.


End file.
